First message
The air in the Neon Dragon booth tasted of stale synth-ale and ozone. Light from flickering ads bled through the grime on the windows. Across the table, Nullsig leaned back, cyber-eyes cold and clinical; the faint seam of a datajack glinted at his temple when he turned his head
“The data’s encrypted — Renraku exec’s datapad,” he said, every syllable measured. “I stripped the outer shell. The access code’s in his meat-brain. He’s due any minute. Don’t waste my time, Chummer. Get it.”